


No Coffee, No Life!

by ryukoishida



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, badly written blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:57:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryukoishida/pseuds/ryukoishida
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In between studying for his mid-term exams and working extra shifts at the manga rental store, Makoto hasn’t seen a bed for over forty-eight hours, and he’s been subsisting on coffee, protein bars, energy drinks, and coffee spiked with shots of energy drinks. Haruka is putting a stop to this before his boyfriend can land himself in the ER with caffeine overdose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Coffee, No Life!

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve given up on titles. Can you tell?

“Oh Haru, thank fuck you’re here! Did you bring me what I asked for?”

 

Nanase Haruka, who has just stepped in through the threshold of the late-night manga rental store with two paper cups balanced vicariously in his hands while shouldering his bursting book bag, quirks up an eyebrow at the raw desperation with which his boyfriend is imploring him in combination with his well-known and fail-safe puppy dog eyes. His usually upbeat voice is hoarse and low and his eyes are bruised with purple shadows beneath the frame of long lashes.

 

Despite the face of someone who hasn’t seen a bed in over forty-eight hours, Tachibana Makoto’s eyes are unusually bright though he’s also blinking more often than normal as if the whiteness of the fluorescent tubes overhead is too bright, and it seems like his entire six-foot-tall frame is vibrating with locked up energy with which the college student has no outlet to release.

 

Haruka doesn’t say anything while he carefully places the steaming beverages down on the counter and swings his bag over to the other side with a dull _thunk_ , just closely observing the brunette as he taps his fingers restlessly against the scratched-up surface of the counter. One of his legs is jigging up and down on the crossbar of his rickety stool, which is making an incessant series of high-pitched, staccato squeals with bits of rusted metal rubbing against each other.

 

“Makoto,” Haruka cradles the other man’s face with both of his hands and tugs him closer for inspection; their faces are only inches away. His pale green eyes are shifting agitatedly, unable to meet Haruka’s concentrated blue regard, and his skin is flushing with heat. Haruka has to brush his bangs away from his forehead in order to regain his boyfriend’s attention. “How much coffee have you had since I saw you yesterday at the library?”

 

His eyes roll upward as if he’s seriously considering Haruka’s question, teeth chewing on his bottom lip in thought, and from this distance, the dark-haired man can clearly see the faint red veins crawling across the white of Makoto’s eyes.

 

Just when was the last time he’s had a good night’s sleep – or even a decent nap for that matter? Haruka frowns in worry, though he’s still waiting for Makoto’s answer.

 

When the brunette answers, it’s with an unsteady, jittery grin – almost like he’s drunk, but Haruka has seen the guy wasted before and this is slightly different. “Ah… seven, maybe? I’ve lost count, sort of?”

 

Haruka’s gaze hones in onto the thermos sitting next to the cash register, and before Makoto can even consider snatching it out of the other man’s range, Haruka – always with the quicker reflex, especially when he’s not under the influence of caffeine, as somebody _evidently_ is – reaches for the container and takes a suspicious whiff.

 

An unmistakable scent of coffee drifts up – strong, dark coffee from the way Haruka wrinkles his nose in disgust and puts the offensive mug back to its original position faster than Makoto can open his mouth to defend himself.

 

“You were drinking coffee even before I got here?”

 

“Mmhmm,” the brunette nods jerkily, like a marionette whose stringed limbs are being controlled by an inexperienced puppeteer, and adds in a dreamy, faraway voice, “Coffee with a dash of Red Bull. It’s surprisingly not as disgusting as you might think.”

 

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Haruka’s incredulous tone cannot be masked by his usual calm.

 

He releases his grip on Makoto’s face and sighs; his desperation is pretty much audible. _Honestly_ , Haruka thinks with a subtle shake of his head as he walks around the counter to join the brunette on the stool next to his and stares at the decidedly empty store on a Tuesday night in the middle of October, a broken light fixture flickering irritatingly by the shoujou romance corner, _someone needs to take care of this boy before he ends up in the hospital_.

 

He supposes this job has now officially fallen on to his shoulders, what of acting double duty as Makoto’s best friend and boyfriend.

 

However, Makoto’s attention isn’t even on the dark-haired man and his judgemental-yet-worrying glower anymore as his strangely brightened eyes focus on the cups that Haruka has brought along; his eyes widen into comically huge saucers as if he’d just witnessed nirvana and all its glory.

 

Without any further prompting, Makoto picks up a cup with a trembling hand and takes a carefree swig, only to shudder so violently his body is vibrating like a phone on silence and he grimaces so hard that Haruka’s almost certain his face muscles must be hurting from all the twisting and distorting they’re doing.

 

Haruka hides his quiet snickers behind his palm when Makoto sputters, unimpressed and glaring murder at the cup in his hand as if it had personally offended him – which, in Makoto’s caffeine-ridden mind, it probably did – roughly wiping the remnants of the drink that has somehow ended up on his chin with the back of his shirtsleeve.  

 

“What,” Makoto turns to Haruka with a fixed stare, the green of his eyes flat with despair, “the hell is this?”

 

“Chamomile tea,” Haruka replies with a pleasant smile, reaching for the untouched cup and takes a careful sip. The mild floral notes always soothe him down. “Thought you could use some.”

 

“I said ‘coffee’, Haru! _Co_ - _ffee_ ,” he emphasizes heavily on each syllable of the sacred drink he’s been craving since the staff pantry in the rental store ran out of instant coffee powder two hours ago. “Not some goddamn flower tea that will put me to sleep. That’s the opposite of what I want.”

 

“I heard you,” Haruka returns with a smug grin behind the rim of his steaming cup.

 

“How am I going to survive another all-nighter? I still have an abnormal psychology mid-term to study for, and I haven’t even started on my Japanese literature paper that’s due in two days. What has my life become?” Makoto wails as he leans back against the wall behind him with his hands covering his entire face, words muffled and slowly transforming into indiscernible dying whale noises. The stool he’s occupying wobbles hazardously on two flimsy legs as it tips at an impossible angle that will surely tilt over and break his back if Makoto keeps leaning his weight on its brittle, plastic back.

 

Haruka’s eyebrows are rising higher and higher beneath his dark bangs at the brunette’s endless rant but the other man takes no notice.

 

“Wait, no, forget about tonight,” he bolts up all of a sudden, the legs of his seat making a resolute, heavy clonk against the cheap vinyl flooring as it sits properly on all four legs again. “I won’t even be able to survive this shift. I will fall asleep when the caffeine stops working its magic, get caught by my manager and get my ass fired. Oh my god I’m going to end up jobless and living on the street.”

 

“Makoto, you’re being ridiculous,” Haruka shakes his head fondly at him, eyes glimmering in amusement. “Caffeine overdose has made you delirious. Drink some of that tea; it’ll help.”

 

“Haru…” he gathers his boyfriend’s hand into both of his and pleads with him silently through one of their telepathic conversations, bottle-green eyes shining with hope, but his frantic desire for coffee is so blindingly obvious on his face that Haruka doesn’t even feel the slightest bit sorry or a dire need of hesitation when he pulls his hand out of the other man’s grasp with such firmness that it honestly breaks Makoto’s caffeine-craving heart a little.

 

“No,” he tells him clearly, and pushes the tea towards his pouting – actually pouting in a way that would make a five-year-old envious of how persuasive and pitiable it looks on a nineteen-year-old man – boyfriend instead.

 

“You’re too cruel, Haru, too cruel,” Makoto whines, but there’s neither real ire nor true malice in his tone for Haruka to take his complaint seriously.

 

“It’s for your own good,” Haruka places his own cup down, and puts a calming hand on Makoto’s head, digging his fingers pacifyingly into his soft, brown hair and combing through the strands with a mesmerizingly slow and soothing rhythm that eases Makoto’s muscles to relax, his shoulders slumped as tension oozes out gradually, making his eyes slip shut. “What time does your shift end?”

 

Makoto mumbles as he leans against the dark-haired man, “Twelve-thirty.”

 

Haruka checks the time on his cellphone. “You only need to stay awake for a little bit less than an hour.”

 

“Yippee,” the brunette cheers listlessly, tone dripped in sarcasm that even his fatigue is incapable of disabling.

 

People always see Makoto as this giant harmless puppy who exudes sunshine and happiness and is innocent of any terrible indulgences and habits like cussing that puts even Rin to shame or taking advantage of his sarcasm-inducing skills to prove a point, but Haruka – the always dependent Haruka who’s a constant shadow ever since they were children – has seen Makoto’s worst, or best, depending on the point of view.

 

Because a plastered Makoto rambling analysis – with surprisingly great fluency and accuracy given his drunken state, though hilariously littered with swear words between every two or three phrases – about ancient Japanese literature is a sight to behold in and of itself. Those are rare occasions, but when Makoto is over-strung with stress and starts chugging coffee as if his life and academic future depend on it, it’s almost always a given that Haruka will eventually find his boyfriend so jittery on caffeine rush that there’s nothing for him to do but to wait it out, for the unnatural hyper-energy to drain away in a few hours’ time and Makoto will crash, the light of his consciousness snaps shut so suddenly that the first time it happened, Haruka almost considered calling the ambulance, until he was certain that his boyfriend didn’t drop dead out of the blue but had simply fallen into a deep slumber.

 

It’s an unhealthy habit that Makoto has picked up during the last two years as a college student in Tokyo, the workload at school and the countless shifts at his part-time job being so demanding that there has been too many instances when he attempts to compensate lack of sleep with cups of black coffee and energy drinks, and it almost always ends badly with Makoto passing out during the most inconvenient hour.

 

Apparently, he has learned nothing from his past experiences.

 

“I’ll stay with you,” Haruka promises, giving Makoto’s fluffy hair one last, consoling pat before he starts to dig through his book bag, his hand finally emerging with his art history textbook. He settles it between his thighs and flips to the page he has marked with a blue sticky note and continues, a barely-there smile grazing his lips, “And if you manage to stay awake and finish drinking that tea I bought out of my loving concern for you, I’ll give you a prize.”

 

The statement is vague enough that Makoto has half a mind to ignore him and proceeds to poke around the pantry to seek for anything with a remote trace of caffeine in it, but the mischievous gleam in Haruka’s azure eyes doesn’t escape the brunette’s attention. Haruka has something up his sleeves, and the opportunity is so unusual that Makoto feels like it’s a crime if he doesn’t engage and give into it.

 

Staying awake is hardly Makoto’s problem right now, as his body is still thrumming and restless with excessive energy, fingers drumming on the counter without any sort of recognizable rhythm while he attempts to pass the time by reading a volume of manga – some sort of sports manga, from what Haruka can tell as he sneaks a sideway glance at the cover. His brain is still on wired alertness, and every little sound is making him jump.

 

Almost petulantly, Makoto sips at the now lukewarm chamomile tea while glaring at the panels on the pages as the mild blend of flowery scent drifts up his nostrils and the steam fogs up his vision every so often.

 

And so time continues to tick through each second as agonizingly slow as Makoto has imagined it would be.

 

Only two customers venture in so far. A boy clad in metal-framed glasses and a set of middle school uniform who looks way too young to be wandering around aimlessly in a manga rental store at this time of night, but Makoto doesn’t question him as long as he stays away from the restricted, eighteen-plus-only section of the store, which is feebly separated from the rest of the, more or less, youth-friendly genres by a few pathetic layers of cheap red and black chiffon cloth flowing lazily to the warm current of the portable fan heater. Perhaps he’s too exhausted to actually give a fuck at this point, so Makoto merely acts his part as a nice, friendly employee as he checks out the boy’s selection with a tired, forcibly plastered-on smile before waving him out the door.

 

About ten minutes later, with an empty paper cup sitting proudly by Makoto’s elbow and Haruka finishing up his assigned reading for next week’s art history lecture, a middle-aged man carrying a briefcase and donning a monotonous grey suit with a hideous orange tie loosely hanging around his shirt collar – an outfit that screams white-collar working a nine-to-five office job – scurries into the shop and nervously scans his surroundings as if he’s afraid that someone might jump down from the bookshelves and attack him any second.

 

When Makoto and the man’s eyes meet, the former giving the patron his friendliest smile, the businessman quickly averts his gaze and darts into the hentai section behind the red and black make-shift barrier, the semi-transparent fabric swishing behind him like some ghastly thing – not very sensual at all, if that’s what the shop’s manager is going for.

 

A few minutes later, the man appears with a few volumes in his hands, his head lowered the entire time he approaches the counter.

 

Makoto doesn’t even bat an eyelash when he efficiently receives the man’s rental payment before thoughtfully putting the small stack of inappropriate manga into an opaque plastic bag and handing it to him with another bland, winner smile.

 

The man nods his thanks, shifts his eyes somewhat guiltily down to the ground again, and dashes out of the store.

 

The brunette glances over to see Haruka’s shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter, a hand slapped over the lower half of his face, and when the hurried footsteps fade away down the street, Haruka deems it safe enough to laugh out loud, the lovely sound muffled by the hand covering his mouth.

 

“How do you keep your face straight like that?” Haruka wonders, his cheeks flushing pink from the effort of trying to keep the sounds of his amusement down for the past ten minutes.

 

“Practice,” Makoto tells him with a tired but genuine smile. He briefly glances at the clock, which informs him that there are still twenty minutes until closing. He lets out a huge yawn, muscular arms reaching skyward in a stretch that causes his back to arch and an unintentional groan to escape as he feels his joints crack satisfyingly with the movement.

 

It’s ten minutes until closing time when Haruka slams his textbook shut, the loud snap causing the slouching brunette to straighten up immediately and watch on as the dark-haired man meticulously places his book back into his bag, makes a beeline for the glass door smudged with fingerprints, and flips the open/close signage with some sort of finality that’s making Makoto’s heartbeat a little faster than usual.

 

Or maybe that’s just a side effect from his caffeine consumption. He’s been so used to the heightened rate of his heartbeat lately that it’s really hard to tell the difference when combined with the thing where he hasn’t had a chance to sleep for the past two days.

 

“H-Haru?” Makoto stammers, voice laced with a touch of hysterics when his lover pulls him down from his seat with an insistent strength that Makoto has no idea the slighter man possesses and stumbles after him into a secluded corner of the shop, which happens to be the shoujo manga section – the corner where the lights flicker every so often like the background set of a slasher movie waiting to happen.

 

Still not uttering a word, Haruka pushes the taller man against the bookshelf, the weight of the stacks that are stored there, in addition to the aging wood and rusted nails, giving a squeaking sway against the peeling wall with a heavy _thud_ that reverberates along Makoto’s spine, which is currently in slight discomfort as the sharp ledges dig into his back. But his mind is not even aware of the pain a second later when he looks down, his breath hitched at the way Haruka is staring at him, azure eye gleaming in a quiet but fierce light, the pink tip of his tongue just peaking out teasingly as he licks his lower lip in something that can be described as anticipation, if Makoto’s brain is still functioning properly.

 

“What are you doing?” If Makoto’s voice is some register higher than usual, Haruka chooses not to acknowledge it, just tips his head up to maintain their eye contact and quirking his head to the side slightly as if asking him what the problem is. “There’s still ten minutes before closing.”

 

“Nine now,” Haruka replies, and sets himself to work. Nimble fingers capable of working a carving knife as well as unfastening belt buckles competently slide down from the brunette’s broad shoulders, past the sides of his abdomen and settle on his hips while he brings himself closer, eyes fluttering shut as he leans in to place a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses along the column of his neck.

 

When he hears Makoto’s soft, whimpering attempt of protest, which doesn’t seem all that convincing to Haruka, and feels his hand running up to the back of his head and digging into his hair, Haruka grins against the reddened skin of Makoto’s neck, finally saying, “Remember that prize I mentioned earlier? I think you deserve this for being such a good boy.”

 

Haruka doesn’t wait for Makoto’s reply, which is more of a needy whine at the back of his throat, as he continues trying to get his boyfriend’s jeans and boxers low enough so that he can finally put his mouth to good use.

 

“Ah, Haru!” Makoto gives a startled, little yelp when he feels the playful lick of Haruka’s tongue along the underside of his half-hard length, and any complaint or objection to any unprofessional action committed while still on duty as this store’s employee all but gets thrown out the window when Haruka decides the best way to shut him up is to swallow him down without any warning.

 

It’s working exceptionally well, all things considered.

 

“H-Ha-ru…” he shivers as he threads gentle fingers into Haruka’s hair, his lover’s name poignantly sweet and broken on his tongue as wet heat envelopes him. The rhythm with which Haruka teases him is languid, swollen pink lips shiny with spit and Makoto’s precum running along his flushed cock in such a leisurely pace, inching in and backing off to his tip to suck idly on it, but the suction is so agonizingly light that Makoto has to bite his lower lip raw to stop himself from begging for more.

 

In the back of his undoubtedly lust-hazed mind, Makoto vaguely wonders what would happen if someone were to step into the shop this very moment; he wonders if getting a magnificent blowjob from his boyfriend after almost a week of only brief kisses and stolen touches due to their busy schedules is worth getting caught and fired over, and it’s at this precise moment that Haruka – possibly catching onto Makoto’s worries – chooses to tighten his grip on the brunette’s hips and _suck_.

 

The heady pressure is so delightful – so unexpected – that Makoto has to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the almost-scream that’s about to escape from his throat as his hips thrust forward by impulse, seeking more of that familiar, delicious heat, his other hand gathering a fistful of Haruka’s hair instinctively but he takes care to monitor his strength, too, relaxing his shaky fingers momentarily to comb them through inky strands before brushing a gentle thumb along Haruka’s delicate cheekbone.

 

Haruka blinks up at the brunette’s touch, all pupil-blown eyes, ivory cheeks flushed pink, and his lips wrapped tightly around his length. Makoto’s afraid that if his heart is beating any faster and harder, he suspects he may actually fall victim to cardiac arrest, but _whatever_ , he thinks dimly as Haruka leans against his warm, open palm, eyes fluttering closed, _just whatever_ – this is worth it.

 

Definitely worth it.

 

Just the mere image of Haruka on his knees is enough to send him over the edge, and Haruka, as usual, seems to have read his mind, because in the next second, the dark-haired man is sucking with renewed fervour, diving in to get as much of Makoto’s cock inside his mouth as he can. He begins to lose the previous rhythm, and that’s fine with Makoto as he feels the knotted coil below his abdomen twisting tauter, burning fiercer, a violin string tuned so sharply that it’s threatening to snap.

 

Makoto can’t stop the noises that’s inevitably coming out of his mouth – doesn’t even try anymore – not when Haruka is continuing to take him in so deep, the heat and pressure almost unbearable, and the filthy, half-broken syllables of Haruka’s name and expletives interspersed with half-subdued moans only spur him on, compelling him to keep going even though his jaw is beginning to ache and saliva is dripping messily down his chin, his own erection becoming more and more difficult to ignore when he sees Makoto unfurling like this, falling apart like this.

 

A vice-like grip on his shoulder and a breathless murmur of his name notify him that Makoto is about to come, and he can feel it in the way he shudders against him, violent and uncontrolled, his other hand grasping the edge of the shelf for support and his head banging against the rows of manga volumes behind him, and then Haruka’s tasting salt and musk as it fills his mouth.

 

Haruka waits until the shaking from his lover’s orgasm recedes into only slight tremors before he pulls away, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, lips scandalously red from the abuse and there’s a trace of pearly white in the corner of his mouth he didn’t quite catch.

 

Makoto’s careful hand brushes through his hair, and Haruka hums in appreciation and lets his boyfriend pull him to his feet, leaning up into a slow, sloppy kiss that’s more calming than heated. They take their time to get reacquainted, allowing their heartbeat to return to its normal rate.

 

“Where did that even come from?” Makoto asks after he fixes his trousers back into order, a little bewildered but happy nevertheless, voice dragging on gravel as he attempts to clean the other man’s face with his shirtsleeve.  

 

Haruka shrugs, head turned to the side but an embarrassed grin is hiding beneath that coy expression. “Just… Thought you might need some unwinding is all.”

 

“You’re right about that,” Makoto laughs, and brings him back into his embrace, arms easily wrapping around Haruka’s smaller frame. He lowers his head so he can whisper directly into his ear, “Let me take care of you, too?” One of his hands trails down surreptitiously and traces a finger against Haruka’s obvious hard-on, and he shivers within his arms, eyes squeezing closed at the contact that’s not nearly enough to suffice.

 

“Unless you want to work over-time, I suggest we continue this at home,” Haruka whispers back, and the brunette chuckles in agreement.

 

He grabs Haruka’s hand, practically drags them over to the counter to gather their belongings, and hightails out of the store in record time.

 

Some time on their way back to their shared apartment while they’re sitting side-by-side in a nearly deserted train compartment, with Miyavi’s guitar riffs and raw vocals shared between their earphones, Haruka feels a weight on his left shoulder, brown hair tickling his cheek, and he turns to see Makoto sleeping soundly – has probably fallen asleep a couple of stations ago – their hands still clasped lightly between them.

 

Haruka shifts his gaze towards the window across from them, glass pane showing a blurry reflection of tender blue eyes and a small smile, as the train speeds into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Holy. Fuck. I’m so sorry to have to subject you all to that garbage blowjob scene. I honestly like the rest of the fic, except for that part, haha. Oh well. Nothing is perfect. If you did enjoy it, please consider reblogging/liking it on the Official MakoHaru Festival Tumblr page (http://theofficialmakoharufestival.tumblr.com/). Two more fics to go: radio AU and yoga AU! Let’s do this!


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